


Between a Rut and a Hard Place

by DarthSuki



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Desk Sex, Dirty Talk, F/M, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Pre-Canon, Rutting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 09:35:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8244581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthSuki/pseuds/DarthSuki
Summary: Jack’s suppressants don’t always work perfectly, so there are times where he goes into a rut and can’t concentrate on any of his tasks really well at all. Luckily for him, his doctor and Omega mate might be able to give him a different prescription for what's ailing him...Commission for asuka-in-tokyo3 on tumblr





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [asuka-in-tokyo3](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=asuka-in-tokyo3).



Missions were the blood of Overwatch as a whole. Humanitarian, combat or otherwise to give the public a reminder that they were still out there doing their job, missions were what made Overwatch as strong and hearty as it could be. Jack Morrison, Strike-Commander of the group, didn’t get the opportunity anymore to traverse on any mission that didn’t include a dinner with politicians or a talk over a too-long oval table, and he absolutely hated it. 

He hated how it made his skin feel itchy, his fingers twitch, his eyes constantly searching around every corner for an enemy he knew wasn’t there. Was that PTSD? He was sure that was the proper name for it, but he himself never bothered to label the feeling. It was never that hard to ignore anyway, especially when he had so much to worry about already.

Going into a rut, however, makes every feeling almost unbearable. His bones ache, as if they’re too big for his skin, and his mind is constantly flaring with the smell of everything around him. Omega. Alpha. Beta and, hell, even Gammas. It makes his thoughts feel less like he’s wading through an endless lake, and more like he’s trying to keep breathing under a drowning tsunami.

Mercy is a blessing as much as she is a curse for Jack Morrison. Birth name Angela Ziegler, she is one of the people that Jack holds in true, honest confidence. Even before they began a romantic relationship, the two of them saw each other as respected co-workers, allies, people with differing outlooks on life but with similar intentions.

There was a reason that he fell in love with her. She kept him sane, even during the hardest of nights, when everything seemed to be going downhill faster than a bike with broken brakes.

Sometimes though, she was oblivious to how much she could also make him feel mindless.

* * *

 

He doesn’t know how she doesn’t smell it on him at first when she comes to visit his office. His scent is heavy and cloying, seeming to stick to every surface that he so much as touches--which is why he requested her in his office than the other way around. Though a rut isn’t nearly as important or as disabilitating as a heat, it’s still comes as a surprise to the Commander, who has been on suppressants ever since he left SEP as a young soldier.

She steps into his office with a smile on her face, hair loose and overflowing down her shoulders. It’s the first thing that Jack’s hyper-focused senses catch, because the gentle swing of her hair causes a wave of her scent to flicker through the room.

“Commander Morrison?” She asked, as politely as if she was regarding any of her regular patients. “You requested my presence? I figured something was wrong if you weren’t able to come to the clinic.”

Jack doesn’t answer her at first, his blue eyes merely glancing up from the heavy stack of paperwork on his desk that he’s only barely given any thought. His skin is too tight. Too sensitive. His nose flares at the whiff of the woman’s soft, almost floral natural scent and he lets out a sigh to otherwise cover up the groan that threatens to escape him.

“Nothing...too wrong,” he says after a moment, pressing his hands harder to the wood of his desk. “I...was wondering about switching up some of the suppressants you have me on.”

If the look on Angela’s face is anything to go by, she looks confused by the question.

“Your suppressants?” She asks, tilting her head gently to one side. “I...mean I can, absolutely, but that’s an odd question to ask. Could you not have come to the clinic to ask about it?” After another moment, the woman giggles and starts to walk towards Jack’s desk. He tries desperately not to focus on the rock of her hips as she moves, the swing of her perfect ass hidden under otherwise semi-casual uniform slacks.

She practically saunters forward until she’s just in front of her desk. Angela smiles, then leans forward, her elbows on the edge and her face gently propped onto her palms.

“....Or is my commander just a tad lazy to walk down the two hallways to come see me?” 

Under any other set of conditions, the Strike-Commander would have found her teasing cute, endearing even, but he can’t begin to handle the way each glance of her eyes made him feel. She made his skin bristle, his hands ache to reach out and grab her, haul her close so he could bury his face against her throat.

He knew it isn’t appropriate--it’s still in the middle of the day and they both have important work to get done. The last three missions logs still need to be looked over, Gabriel asked for a report on some local research, and one of the UN representatives asked about lunch to talk about public opinion.

“Whatever reasons I requested you to see me is none of your concern,” Jack finally says, voice a hair too bristly. He catches the shift of Angela’s expression almost instantly. “I...sorry. I’m just...very busy right now. A lot of stuff on my mind.”

Instead of anger or annoyance, the look on the woman’s face moves to worry.

“...I assume this has something with you needing a change of your suppressants?” 

How does she  **not** smell it on him? To him, the entire room smells, practically reeks of an Alpha. But maybe it’s something she’s taken--Jack knows that Angela, as an Omega, has to take specific medication so she isn’t otherwise distracted by her own patients. 

It only makes Jack more aggravated, knowing his own Omega can’t even smell him, how frustrated he is. It makes his hands grip his side of the desk so hard that he’s sure his knuckles are white.

His answer comes out firm and short.

“Yes, it does.”

The air feels thick after a few moments, but Jack’s not sure if that is his own perception or Angela herself realizing the thoughts behind his baby-blue eyes. He hopes for the latter, but the former seems the most logical, because she look more and more pleasing of a distraction.

He can’t concentrate on the paperwork anymore, it’s useless to try in this state. Jack knows he just needs to take the edge off, so to speak, until he can take the next round of pills and sleep it off.

He’s up and out of the chair before he can breathe. Around the other side of the desk before Angela can react. Just as he’s wrapping his arms around her body, the woman lets out a small gasp. 

There’s a whisper of his name on her lips moments before he presses their faces together in loose, heated abandon. The skin-to-skin contact calms some of the Alpha’s frayed nerves, but it’s her scent that does it for him. It placates him more than pills ever can, a natural remedy for the itch in his bones and ache of his thoughts.

There will always be something instinctively comforting about being close to his Omega, enveloping her in his arms.

“Jack,” Angela whimpers, between each eager, hungry kiss. Her hands are on his shoulders, but she’s not pushing him away. Instead, she’s keeping him at bay just enough to turn her body, lean back against the edge of the desk and let his pushing maneuver her to sit atop it. “Are you in a rut?” 

The absurdity of her answer is strong enough to make Jack pull his face back. He hovers just a few inches away, chuckling.

“You just now noticed that?” He asked, though without the venom the words might otherwise suggest. Angela purses her lips together as the only answer, and it only makes Jack’s need worse. They look so soft when she presses them together like that. So kissable.

They share a few more, long kisses with one another as Angela finally wraps her arms around Jack’s neck to keep him close (though he hardly wants to pull away in the first place).

It isn’t until the man’s eagerly pressing his hands to her hips, searching for the hem of her uniform pants, that he speaks again.

“Can’t concentrate on anything.” 

It’s a low, controlled murmur, but it errs on the side of hunger and instinct with how it rumbles deep within his chest. It’s not hard to notice how it affects Angela either, a shiver moving down her body, eyes widening just a slight.

“Are you sure you didn’t call me in here just to have me over your desk?” She teases, voice turning into a whimper as Jack bites down on the sensitive side of her throat. 

She doesn’t tease further, though her voice is absolutely delightful when Morrison  _ finally  _ curls his fingers around the hem of her pants and starts to work them down her legs. After the material pools around her ankles, he does the same to her panties, leaving her to kick her pants somewhere beside the desk.

Care is flung to the wind when finally, Jack pushes her back, making the Omega lay back so he can haul her hips forward as he kneels in front of the desk. The position puts her hips just slightly off the edge of the desk, but securely in front of his face with either of ther soft thighs on his shoulders. 

Jack breaths out warmly against her sex, making Angela all but writhe in anticipation. If there’s anything that the Strike-Commander had a passion for more than Overwatch, it was this.

He moves with the intensity of a starving man, mouth surging forward before she even has time to suck in a breath and--

“Fuck!” Angela whimpers, one hand up to her mouth to bite, the other burying her fingers into the man’s soft, short blonde hair. Her thighs are already trembling when Jack’s deft tongue dips between the folds of her cunt, teasing out each little ragged breath. “Mein gott, Jack, you’re--”

Angela doesn’t finish the sentence. She’s too busy trying not to let out a cry when Jack’s tongue finally stops teasing her, moving from languid licks down the center of her cunt to tiny, almost teasing flicks of the tip against the bud of nerves at the top. 

For as chaotic as his thoughts have been to that point, Jack feels no shortage of clear, perfect thoughts while he’s lost in the motions of sex. He’s drunk on the scent of Angela’s arousal, drowning in the perfection of her taste--it works the magic of soothing every ounce of the Alphas frazzled mind. 

At the very least, it gives him enough sensibility to start undoing the complex motions to remove his belt, loosen his pants, all while his Omega is lost in the pleasure of his mouth.

If he had the ability, Jack knew he would happy leave himself to the wonder and perfection between his mate’s legs. There was something so filthy and beautiful about eating her out, about being so intimate with her sex--but today was not a day that he could afford a luxury. There is still so much to do, and his dick is starting to ache for release.

Her pheromones are flooding his nose, an obvious sign that she’s not in or nearing heat rendering any worries of pregnancy to the back of his mind.

The transition from kneeling to standing is almost as smooth as Jack’s pants as they slide down his legs, cool air making him hiss as it hits his otherwise throbbing, aching dick. He doesn’t waste any time in shifting between her thighs, his erection pressing against the wet heat his tongue had occupied to needily just moments before.

“No suppressants will beat this,” the man says mindlessly, basking in the emotional satiation of being so close to his Omega. Angela lets out a ragged sigh, staring up at him with half-lidded eyes.

“Could write you a prescription for this, you know.”

Jack isn’t sure whether to take Angela’s words as seriousness or not, so he merely growls and gently thrusts his hips, letting the length of his cock slide against the top of her throbbing cunt. It’s wonderful, yes, but it’s nothing compared to the ecstasy of being inside of her velvety folds.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Jack teases in kind, voice low and ragged. His fingertips find grip on her hips just as he shifts to press the head of his cock against her entrance, but doesn’t yet push in. The time he took between her thighs before gives him just enough restraint to tease her in revenge, watching the woman’s face shift from amusement to annoyance as she can’t even wiggle her hips to push him inside of her. 

The commander chuckles and continues. “You’d just love for me to swing by the clinic every day and fuck you over the desk, right? Leave your cunt sloppy with my seed. Nobody would ever doubt that you belonged to me, Angela. My Omega.”

He savours the sight for a few moments more, the way his cockhead kisses her cunt, but isn’t doing more than pressing against her, teasing at the pleasure she’s craved and openly begged for multiple times over, in and out of her heat. It’s...nice to have that power, to feel in control of the pace and the motions of their sex. It’s what soothes his nerves the most, to feel that sense of control over the both of them. It’s exactly what his mind needs--

But he’s not going without the pleasure of fucking her. Jack licks his lips before finally thrusting in one sharp, powerful motion. If he didn’t have a hard grip on her hips, he might have otherwise knocked her back. Angela’s legs wind around the small of Jack’s back as he starts a brutal pace, making the desk squeak and rattle as various supplies fall onto the floor.

Neither of them seem to care, lost in the euphoria of both emotional and physical pleasure of one another as the heat of sex overtakes them. Soft moans to deep, needy growls, the two spend a mindless time together in the office, staving off the edge of insanity that ruts always bring to the Strike-Commander.

It isn’t until hours later that Jack remembers, in a haze of sex pheromones and tangled in Angela’s arms, that he never went to lunch or called Gabriel back. 

Oops.


End file.
